


Names: Designation and Declaration

by knightinpinkunderwear



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: But not on purpose, Ear Piercings, Ed centric, Everyone is Trans, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Misgendering, Name Changes, Names, Nicknames, Nonbinary Character, Trans Character, Trans Edward Nygma, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, Trans woman edward nygma, all the pronouns!, dead names, ed gets outed, tank cameo, this is about her finding a new name so.., trans diedre vance, trans lucius fox, trans myrtle jenkins, trans nina damfino, trans waylon jones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:22:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28678074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightinpinkunderwear/pseuds/knightinpinkunderwear
Summary: Names are tricky. Finding one for yourself is... a process. Trans-ing is difficult, but it's worth it.
Relationships: Edward Nygma & Diedre Vance, Nina Damfino & Edward Nygma, myrtle jenkins & edward nygma
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Names: Designation and Declaration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miss_Vile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Vile/gifts).



> If this isn't your cup of tea then leave. 
> 
> I ain't got the time to deal with transphobic bullshit. 
> 
> For those of you with a genuine interest in this fic, I hope you folks like it. 
> 
> While I myself am trans, I don't know what it's like to be a trans woman or a trans man. So if anything is inaccurate or irritating please let me know.

Ed.

It was a short, curt sort of name. Undeniably masculine, which was both a comfort and a discomfort. Masculinity, something Ed worked to perform but was not sure he (they?) wanted to be.  
Ed was certainly preferable to Edward. Which was awkward and clunky like Ed's limbs. Edward was also masculine.

But at least Ed could pretend that Ed was short for something else. Edwyne or maybe Edith.

Even if Ed didn't particularly like those names that much... they felt much too close to Edward for him... them (her?) to find much comfort in them. Not that Ed wanted to stray that far from Edward either, the name had a sort of comfort in its familiarity. Even though it had never really felt right, or quite like it belonged to Ed.

Working at the GCPD was horrid, socially speaking. Every day Ed was called names and ridiculed, Ed's fragile mask of manliness torn apart. Ed was terrified one day they would know. Ed did not want to know what would happen then. (Even if the thought sounded freeing... but Ed had trouble admitting it to _herself_ , how would they be able to tell someone else?)

Femininity was a fascinating thing, much nicer to observe and, to Ed, much more desirable.

Ed was fascinated with Ms. Kringle of the records Annex. She practiced masculinity and femininity in a way that Ed could only dream of accomplishing one day. (Also she was really pretty and very kind, and Ed may or may not have a bit of a crush on her).

Ed knew that they were interested in both men and women for almost as long or maybe longer than they-- _she'd_ \-- known that she was not a man.  
Ed had unspoken understandings of herself and some of them needed to be spoken. Before she forgot herself. And to do that she would need a name.

_What belongs to you but is used more by others?_

Names were tricky things and Ed needed to think of one that fit better than Edward. She had finally built up the courage to join a group for people like her, a transgender support group. And she'd promised herself she would have a name that fit better by then. Something for them to call her that didn't have such distance from her, that didn't make her skin feel clammy. She wouldn't have much in the way of clothes as she mostly only owned sweaters, button-downs, and slacks. But she promised herself she would have a name.

Gotham was not very helpful and she had to help on a triple homicide in the cold rain. At least her raincoat blocked the wind and cold somewhat. Each jeer and joke about "Nygma’s pitiful masculinity" and how they thought she barely qualified as a man (she wasn't so therefore she didn't) made her so much colder than the weather ever could.

She thought maybe Detective Gordon, who had answered her riddle and been so kind would do something about it. But he didn't.

_I can sneak up on you or be right in front of you without you knowing. But when I reveal myself, you will never be the same. What am I?_

She tried to push down the disappointment, getting her hopes up like that had never ended well before. She needed to stop expecting any better, that way she wouldn't be disappointed. She put her head down and got her work done.

They somehow managed to keep the papers on their clipboard dry enough to be legible. And the return to the slightly warmer than outside precinct was welcome. Even if someone laughed and said she looked like a wet rat.

They pushed down the rolling in their stomach as they pushed open the door to the men's locker room for their spare shirt and cardigan, hanging the damp ones in their locker. Thankfully she'd long ago mastered the art of changing one's clothes without exposing the body underneath.

Maybe one day she could have a locker with the other women. She just hoped that they wouldn't feel uncomfortable with her presence... but first, she had to build up the nerve to say something about all of this. And she wasn't sure she could do that yet. First the support group, and actually saying what she is out loud. Then she could start to tackle larger, scarier issues.

They almost talked themself out of it, and for that, they kinda wanted to slap themself. To dispel some of the nervous energy as she waited to leave she'd made muffins (three batches, things were calmer in threes).

She packed 18 of them in a large Tupperware container (there was no way she could possibly carry all 36 with her). (If they made a habit of the muffins, perhaps they would invest in one of those cupcake transport containers, it would certainly be helpful, as there was no way they could eat the amount of nervous baking they made).

(Maybe there was a food bank or some family she could donate the excess to).

The meeting was at a community center she'd never heard of, but it wasn't that hard to find. Sadly she'd been so preoccupied with getting there and not letting herself back out that she still hadn't found a good name. In a panic with a sharpie and an adhesive name tag, she scribbled down the first thing that popped into her head.

"Hi, there uh-" the person looked down at her name tag and she tried not to squirm, "-Ridley is it?"

"For now, I- it still isn't- I'm sorry I-" she stuttered, embarrassed that she was 26 and only just started figuring these things out.

"Hey, it's alright, living as yourself is a process, not a race, you're always allowed to change your name at any time," the blond with a pronoun button displaying she/they shrugged, "I'm Diedre, my girlfriend Nina is over there," she pointed to a woman with dark hair and very fake looking glasses.

Before she could respond the leader called everyone to sit. They sat on creaming folding chairs in a circle, in the same way that Ed thought various other support group meetings might take place.  
The leader starts, they have kind, dark eyes and a bit of neat but still sparse facial hair.

"Hello, for those of you that are new or haven't been in a while I'll explain briefly; first we will go around the circle to introduce ourselves. Names, pronouns, and if we are comfortable gender and anything else we want to share," they said with a measured but not calculated tone.

Their voice was trustworthy. Ed didn't know how she knew that, or why she did.

"I'll start us off, my name is Lucius, my pronouns are he/him, and I'm a gay trans man," Lucius said, gesturing to the person counterclockwise to him with a neatly manicured hand.

"Hi, I'm Myrtle, my pronouns are she/they, and I think I am genderfluid," Myrtle had a voice like a bell and long yellow-blond hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders.

"As most of you know I'm Nina, pronouns she/her, and I'm still a lesbian in love with this tall glass of water to my right," Nina, the girlfriend of Diedre, who Ed briefly spoke to only minutes ago, had an animated energy about her as she spoke. With large and sweeping but graceful gestures, Ed was almost envious of her.

"I'm Diedre, pronouns she/they, non-binary lesbian, like Nina said, I'm hers she's mine and all that sappy nonsense," Diedre said with a more laid-back calmness, though they seemed a bit like the calm in a storm, like they could easily jump into action. Though what reason she would need to for Ed was unsure.

"Hello, I'm Waylon, my pronouns are he/they, I'm a queer man, and as you can see I've got a skin condition," Waylon was a pretty big guy, he wasn't just tall, he was broad, and he barely fit into the tiny folding chair he was sitting in. The skin condition was a few patches of what honestly kind of looked like _scales_ on his face and forearms.

"Hello, I uh- I'm Ridley for now and she/her and- and I'm a woman," Ed or Ridley stuttered, rushing through her introduction with a mouth that simultaneously felt too wet and too dry, only just barely biting back a nervous riddle. She did not need these people to think of her as a freak and she wanted to give a good first impression of herself.

And _wow_. Now that she'd said it out loud it was as if a weight had been lifted off her chest, a vice loosened from around her ribs. She was a woman.  
No one laughs at her or looks at her the way her coworkers do at the GCPD. They look... kind.

Not annoyed by her very presence or existence. _Though_ _,_ a dark corner of her mind whispered, _there's plenty of time for that yet._

"Hey fellas, I'm Shea, pronouns they/them, and I'm genderfluid," the next person said, grinning with a plump face and a bowl-cut.

The rest of the meeting went well, even though Ridley/Ed couldn't really push down her nerves down enough to speak again. Just being there, having people call her a woman, even though she was still dressed the way she usually did it was wonderful. Her skin felt more like it belonged her, as silly as it seemed.

The muffins were a hit, and Ridley had to keep from squirming from the praise and smiles. She couldn't help the grin, however.

She left with an empty Tupperware container and promised to bring more the next week. (Which she could not possibly let herself miss now).

When she got home to her tiny studio apartment she decided she might as well share the good mood, even if she was still pretty nervous and awkward. (But she had always been nervous and awkward, so that was par for the course). She brought the excess muffins around to offer to the neighbors on the five floors of her meager apartment building.

The trip was adequately successful, offering food made people more inclined to like you, especially when they were plain and palatable foods like muffins. She returned to her own apartment with a lonely five muffins.

She'd told the neighbors who didn't remember her (most of them) that her name was Ridley. It was nice, but she still wasn't sure on the name.

She went to work the next day and hated how familiar being Ed was. She hated how familiar it was to be mocked for being odd or for failings at manliness. Not that she really wanted to appear manly. But she didn't want to risk telling anyone at the GCPD yet. 

She was only just starting to figure this out. What if she was like those people in the tabloids that were just confused and regretted it? She didn't want to let anyone at either GCPD know anytime soon. 

At least, not until she'd figured all this gender and transgender stuff out better than now. She could wait until she was more sure of herself, and more sure that it was safe to be herself. 

And she didn't particularly want to find out what new names they would call her or what new jokes they might make about her if they knew. 

So she comforted herself with reassurances that their opinions did not matter, because it wasn't like they actually knew her. And it wasn't like they used their minds much, half of them owed a lot of their success to her work. 

Not that she would ever say that out loud. She valued her own safety and knew that saying something would only worsen her treatment. 

The next week she went to the next meeting. And spoke with Nina and Diedre. Both were there again, as well as Lucius, Myrtle, and Waylon. Instead of Shea there was a new man who said his name was Cassidy. 

Ridley had brought muffins again, and received thanks and compliments that made her blush again. She stuttered a little less, but had blurted out a riddle. 

Which earned her a few confused and worried glances, but Lucius, leading the group again had answered it quickly. Leaving Ridley in stunned silence. He hadn't made a comment or even changed his tone or facial expression. He'd just answered the riddle and asked her to continue. 

Later she will blame her lack of speaking in the rest of the meeting on her shock from being answered without judgment or maybe embarrassment from asking the riddle in the first place. 

She is pleasantly surprised after the meeting has ended when Nina came up to discuss wordplay with her, Diedre tailing not far behind. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Waylon pack five muffins into a large zip-lock bag. She is happy that he thought so highly of her baking to do so and thinks that someone his height and athletic build surely needs the calories. (And even if he didn't 'need' the calories, she would be happy to make sure he got as many muffins as he wanted anyway.)

She felt lighter than ever, returning back to Grundy street, an empty makeshift muffin container on-hand.

She ordered one of those transport/display cases that night and a few new shirts. Treating herself to women's dress shirts rather than the typical men's in her closet. 

She didn't know if they will be better or worse and while she does think it is a little silly to gender clothing, that doesn't stop her from wanting them, and wanting to try women's clothing. 

Because she _is_ a woman, she is pretty certain of that. And she wants to know if wearing women's clothing helps with the itching of her skin and how she doesn't like the way people look at her, seeing something that she isn't. And maybe it will help ease that and the remaining uncertainty. 

Another week of work goes by, much of the same. She tried to keep her distance from Ms. Kringle who has made it know that her presence makes the records keeper uncomfortable.

Medical examiner Guerra made a few nasty remarks about her. And she tried to forget them as soon as he says them because he's incompetent at his job anyway. And because she didn't want to linger on the awful words her coworkers say. 

She makes cranberry and orange scones before the meeting this time, and they are a hit.

She talked with Myrtle before the meeting this time as Nina and Dierde are running late. And finds out that she and Myrtle went to the same elementary school and even sat at adjacent desks in Mrs. Macher's class. 

They'd both thought they were boys then. It's relieving to know that she wasn't alone, even then. It's nice to see Myrtle, she seems so much happier now, freer. 

Ridley asks them how they found their name, confessing her own confusions and conflictions. 

"Names are tricky, honestly, I just picked a random letter then ran through my favorite names starting with it. Myrtle just had a nice ring to it," 

Ridley noded. She understood that approach. 

"I guess what matters about a name is what you want from it, a good place to start is the first letter though." 

"E." Ridley answered without thinking. She'd loved puzzles for so long and after she'd changed her legal surname it would be a shame to be anything other than E. Nygma. Unless she could put a middle name starting with E. 

Ridley E. Nygma? 

No, the end of Ridley combined with the middle initial seemed so stilted and awkward. 

"Is it weird that I want it to be so similar to my deadname?" 

"Hey, you can always change it again. Also, there's no rules, so..." 

"Thank you again, Mx. Jenkins," 

"Oh, c'mon, as sweet as that dainty little title is, I'd prefer Myrtle," 

"Thank you, Myrtle,"

"No, thank you, Ms. Nygma," 

The sheer amount of euphoria that she got from those two words was astounding. It was amazing and felt so right that Ridley is shocked that she hadn't teared up at it. 

"Are you alright?" 

She nodded, dumbly, eyes wet and a grin splitting across her face. 

"I don't think anyone's called me that before," 

" 'Miss?' " Myrtle asked. 

Ridley nodded again. 

Myrtle grinned, "Feels great, doesn't it?" 

Ridley nodded yet again. 

The rest of the meeting goes well. (Waylon was thinking of joining or making a group for folks like themself).

She spoke a little more in the meeting, asking clarifying questions on this week's topic; history. Several members suggest resources for her to conduct further research. (And she is absolutely ecstatic that she _can_ research this. That there are journals and reports and documentation!) 

She was running on such a high that she was only a bit miffed when she steps into a puddle that was several inches deeper than she thought and tripped, falling to the pavement. She doesn't mind that no one helps her up (there are hardly any people out, and besides everyone else is wrapped too tightly in their wool coats to be of any help anyway). Though someone did ask if she was alright, which was sweet by Gotham standards.

Another week passes, and her women's wear shirt arrives during the weekend. It fits differently, but it was not one of the ones that were pulled in at the waist or had darts to make room for breasts that Ridley did not possess. All in all the experience is quite mundane and anticlimactic... or it should have been. But she'd just felt so thrilled to be wearing something she bought for herself that was marketed to women (which she was!).

Ridley almost felt dumb for how much she liked the tops. (The most noticeable difference is the lack of breast pockets, which Ridley supposed made a lot of sense). One of them is a second-hand [oxford shirt with an embossed collar and cuffs.](https://www.etsy.com/listing/744463509/90s-pale-butter-yellow-cream-embossed?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=embossed+button+down&ref=sr_gallery-1-25&organic_search_click=1) And The texture and pattern are just lovely.

It honestly isn't that different than her normal wardrobe, which was good, because she wasn't sure she had the confidence to do anything drastic yet.

A fascinating triple homicide comes in and some of her coworkers forget to be as rude as they usually are. And work is more pleasant than usual, even if some of them still call her Ed (most stuck with 'Nygma' which is delightfully ungendered). She ponders over the irony of those calling her 'Ed' are trying to be kinder to her and unknowing to them causing her more discomfort.

The paradoxical intent and consequence system does motivate her to find her name a bit more. (Because Ridley is off, and she'd rather be more certain of a name before she informed her coworkers and boss of it).

The meeting that week is relatively uneventful, and she is beginning to get the hang of this. (She brought lemon blueberry muffins).

She spoke to Waylon briefly about recipes and promised to bring cheddar biscuits the next week because he'd asked so nicely. (Someone had made a request!)

She went home happily and quickly, to ransack her recipe collection and the interest for the best cheddar biscuit recipe.

The next day, she wears a woman's blouse to work, under a sweater and blazer. No one noticed, and she felt both relieved and disappointed by that. (Disappointed because it had felt so monumental and anticlimactic when she'd put it on that morning). She also felt bitter because she was starting to think that there was no way she could get noticed in a positive light or because of something she actually did for herself. (Besides comments about her weirdness and being a freak for not like onions or for blurting out a riddle).

She peruses maternity websites aimlessly, scribbling the names that catch her eye in one of her small notebooks.

Emerald is lovely, and it is a lovely green colored gemstone, but it seems too on the nose and maybe it's because she's picking it out for herself that it doesn't quite feel like a name in her mouth.

Kelly is cute but 'Kelly Nygma' just doesn't sound right.

Jade is too hard. 

Olive is a food and she does not particularly want to liken herself to either the food (even though she does like them) or the woman from the Popeye cartoon.

Maybe she should start considering names that are not types of green...

She started again. This time only perusing the section with names starting with E. 

Edna, Edith, Edita, and Edie were thrown out on principle for being far too similar to Edward. (And also given the fact that she didn't particularly like any of those names). 

Elizabeth was objectively a nice name, but she didn't really want it. And if she was chosing her own name, as Myrtle explained, she got to be as petty about reasoning as she wanted to be. 

Ellen was not great. Something about the sound of it just bugged her. It was not right for her. 

Erica was a fine name. But names ending with 'A' had a weird ring to them when followed by Nygma. 

Eloise was the first E name to be added to the candidacy list. 

Emmie was the next. (Sue her, it had a really cute ring to it). 

Everild was an elegant sort of name that made her think of long flowing velvet gowns and satin gloves that shimmered. And, by that grace, it was added to the list. 

Eurydice sounded cool. And while the myth was a bit tragic, the idea of being gone the second someone looked for her was both kind of cool (in a mysterious and avoiding old abusers kind of way) and also hurt. Because it entailed not being seen. The paradox was rather fitting. And so it was added. 

Elodie was lyrical like melody and a bit quirky as well. It was added to the list. 

And so the list; Genesis, Imogene, Lily, Kory, Margot, Eloise, Emmie, Everild, Eurydice, Elodie. 

She wrote each out. 

  * Genesis E. Nygma



It was nice enough, but she had no idea what the 'E' could be and every name she tried just didn't gel well. 

Genesis was crossed off the list. 

  * Imogene E. Nygma



No. It had the same problems as Genesis. It was a nice stand-alone name but it couldn't be paired with an 'E' name. 

Imogene was crossed off the list.

  * Lily Eranthis Nygma



That had a really nice ring to it. And it had a theme that was consistent across the first two parts. 

And the simplicity of Lily on its own was a huge upside. She especially liked the contrast of Lily and Eranthis next to each other. And they were both very nice flowers.

  * Kory E. Nygma



Kory had been nice on its own but no middle name could be found that suited her needs and actually worked _with_ Kory. 

Kory was crossed off the list. 

  * Margot Evelyn Nygma



Margot had been easy to find a name to pair with. And Margot also had quite a few nicknames that she could use if Margot ever felt too much. 

  * Eloise Nygma 



While she would have to find a middle name eventually, she wouldn't have to stick with the initial E. Which freed up a lot of room for interpretation. 

Eloise sounded nice, and it would probably be nice with any middle name she found. But it didn't feel right with Nygma. And she sure as all heck was not going to change her last name again any time soon. 

Eloise was crossed off the list. 

  * Emmie Nygma



Emmie Nygma sounded friendly. And she really liked that. Friendly and bubbly and welcoming. 

Ridley wanted to be that.

  * Everild Nygma 



It sounded elegant. Like a duchess or a proper lady. Polite and graceful. 

(Things Ridley very much wanted to be). 

  * Eurydice Nygma 



Eurydice had sounded so cool on its own, and the origin had good depth to it. But it sucked when put together with her surname. 

Eurydice was crossed off the list. 

  * Elodie Nygma 



Somehow Elodie managed to sound both elegant and friendly. Elodie sounded pleasant and Ridley so badly wanted to be everything the name made her feel. 

She'd reached the end of her first list. 

Now, the revised list: 

  1. Lily Eranthis Nygma
  2. Margot Evelyn Nygma 
  3. Emmie ____ Nygma 
  4. Everild ____ Nygma 
  5. Elodie ____ Nygma 



Ridley crossed Margot off of the list. Then Everiild. Then Emmie.

Down to two. She could always switch to the other if she didn't like one as much as she thought she would.

Waylon had changed his name something like eight times before he found the one they liked best. And no one had judged him for it, so it was alright for her to stumble about.

She tried writing it out.

_Hello, my name is Lily Nygma. I am twenty-six years old, I am a woman._

_Hello, my name is Elodie Nygma. I am twenty-six years old, I am a woman._

She sighed. Who knew naming oneself could be so hard? She wished that there was a clear answer, that it wasn't all tied up in her feelings.

Though she supposed cisgender people while not worrying about choosing their names seemed to be unwilling to change them, even if they didn't like them. She supposed having the freedom to chose a name for herself was quite nice. Even if the process was annoying her.

She got up, walked to the bathroom. stood in front of the sink, looked into the mirror. She looked herself in the eyes.

_When you look at me, I look back, but I cannot see. What am I?_

"I'm Lily," she tried, "My name is Lily Nygma," she tried again. She wanted to cry a little bit. She barely had the nerve to look at her own reflection and say this. How could she expect to tell anyone else? How could she expect to have the nerves to file a legal name change? To get a new badge?

"Hi, I'm Elodie, Elodie Nygma," she stuttered out. Her reflection scowled, oh. She was scowling and shaking and- she rubbed her eyes, letting her fingers push up her glasses.

She felt like someone was dying, something inside of her. Something that wasn't her.

It was Edward. He was dying, she was killing him. She had to. It was the only way she could live, Edward wasn't even real. So why did she feel bad about killing him?

Why did she feel bad about erasing his name if he wasn't real? If he had never been real?

Edward was a character in a play, a fake man that was a fake boy. She made him up, like the person in the mirror he was intangible. Edward and only a trick of the light.

Maybe it was that she pretended to be him for so long. The better part of twenty-six years.

If actors grieved the roles they played, could she not grieve the person she'd tried to be to be safe?

She had only really started realizing Edward's falseness for a few months. She'd always had a niggling feeling of wrongness, of not fitting in. But she'd only started addressing recently.

She'd only started referring to herself as a woman for a month or so.

She huffed out a sigh, then groaned for good measure. She flew through her nightly routine, brushing her teeth, washing up, and changing into her pajamas, wondering as she pulled on an old Zelda t-shirt if she had a crush on Zelda as a kid or if she'd wanted to be Zelda.

When she fell asleep, Ridley still wasn't sure.

Work was bad the next day. Hurtful jeers were thrown at her and papers stolen from her hands and she'd just gone quiet and let it happen. Like she always did. (Even if she wasn't sure they wouldn't push her around or hit her for verbally defending herself, she still felt ashamed for every little thing she let them get away with saying to her face). (She was sure what they said behind her back wasn't any different, because half of them didn't notice she was in the room until she spoke).

The next day was a little better.

Then the blissful weekend came. She played video games and read three or four books that caught her eye in the library.

She felt better after that.

Then she was called in for another homicide.

Her coworkers were ignorant and unobservant to a degree that was almost impressive. At least she didn't need to interact with Detective Flass or Dr. Geurra.

The days passed in a normal and disappointing slowness. She missed the people from the transgender support meetings.

She was counting down the hours and minutes until she could see them again. Until she could exist in a place where she could be safe and seen by others, others like her. Others who understood whatever thing she was going through in some way. She felt less alone there, less lonely. 

_I can fill a room or just one heart, many can have me but I can't be shared, what am I?_

At least the cheddar biscuits she made are good. (They went nicely with a cup of coffee and pan-fried eggs). 

When she arrives at the meeting (with biscuits in hand) she takes a name tag, hesitates a moment, then she wrote.

She couldn't even tell herself why she chose the name she wrote. It had been just a whim that pulled her to one of the two options she'd been considering. 

_Hello, my name is Elodie._ The name tag sticker read. 

She put it on. Next to the she/her button she'd stashed in her blazer pocket during work, now proudly sitting over her heart. 

There were a few mistakes of people almost calling her Ridley before they caught themselves and said the correct name. 

Lucius actually asked her a riddle before they got started. (She'd been so thrilled about it he'd barely finished asking the riddle before she blurted out the answer). (No one had made fun of her for that). 

Nina and Diedre had an argument on the semantics of what made something a riddle and what made a joke, which she, Elodie, had been invited in on. 

Myrtle thought that jokes and riddles had some overlap and that some jokes were riddles with answers specifically for comedic intent. (Frogs in a blender). 

To which Diedre argued that jokes and comedy were about subverting expectations, which could (theoretically) collude with riddles. But riddles were constructed for problem-solving. Whilst jokes were less about whether or not the one being asked could solve it, so much as if they were surprised by the answers and found it humorous. 

Elodie (wow, it was really cool to actually refer to herself as that, to have people refer to her by that name) (it felt comfortable) agreed a little bit with both people and their arguments. Though she did add-in that people found riddles more irritating than jokes. 

"Ask me all the riddles you want," Nina said with a frown. Huh. Myrtle and Diedre were frowning as well. 

Elodie wondered what it was she did to upset them. 

Cassidy and Waylon complimented her on the biscuits. Shea nodded their agreement with the sentiment with a mouthful of cheesy breadstuff. 

Elodie left that meeting after exchanging her phone number with Myrtle, Nina, and Diedre (by extension from Nina). (They had joked about being a package deal). 

She arrived at her apartment feeling happy, and sure. (She didn't know how long this certainty would last, but it wouldn't be too difficult to remedy that).

She crossed Lily off the list. (It was not really a list anymore, and that was very satisfying).

_Elodie Anne Nygma._

It had a nice ring to it. She liked the balance of it, both bubbly and elegant.

She kept going to meetings and started to see the friends she made there for coffee breaks and lunch. She found herself slowly shedding the skin of Edward, ridding her apartment of the things that were his but never hers. She went shopping with Nina and Diedre at the flea market (thankfully no fleas to be found) and to a health and beauty store with Myrtle (lip gloss that tasted like sour apples!).

A man killed three people with specially designed weather balloons. (Which would have seemed stranger to her had she not been working in forensics in Gotham for the past five years). (Gotham was weird, and Gotham's criminals could be very weird).

Shea from the group got a raise and a promotion and was no longer working in the warehouses, now they were on the streets driving and hand-delivering packages. (And getting more exercise than Elodie could think about without getting tired in sympathy).

She had the privilege to investigate a run of explosions with the forensic bomb specialists. (People who, in her own opinion, had the coolest job ever.) (She'd been so excited by the type of explosives used and the tests she got to perform to narrow down the type she hadn't even minded the patronizing looks and general disdain her coworkers had for her).

She experimented with her weekly baked goods. Wanting to impress her new friends and acquaintances.

Waylon also had a really cool job, he was employed as a reptile keeper with the Gotham zoo. (And Elodie wasn't the only one who disagreed when he said something dismissive about his own intellect). (Waylon was far more intelligent and observant than most of her peers at the GCPD).

Dr. Guerra was fired for reasons that Elodie was sure she did not want to know.

Arkham Asylum was reopened. Detective Gordon was fired and she wrote a letter to the Mayor and the Commissioner to complain. (He may not have stopped others from taunting her as much as she'd hoped he would, and he wasn't exactly friendly towards her, but he hadn't ever said a bad word to her face). (Lucius had given her a sad look when she'd explained and told her that she deserved better, and Elodie had been so shocked embarrassed by the conviction of his statement that she'd gaped at him like a fish).

Detective Gordon returned and a new Medical Examiner followed him shortly. Her name was Dr. Leslie Thompkins and she smelled like vanilla (because of her hand lotion and because she had sugar cookie scented hand-sanitizer). Dr. Thompkins was very kind and patient (and she was actually competent at her job!).

It took a while. But she came out to a few people at the GCPD.

Which then quickly became common knowledge (not because the people she told outed her, but because Flass had been eavesdropping when she told Captain Essen).

It sucked. Having someone else tell. She felt angry enough to punch him. Or cuss him out. (And she _never_ cussed).

(She didn't need to punch him, as Detective Bullock had taken the liberty to do it on her behalf). (His aunt was trans, he'd said, and he didn't particularly tolerate folks outing others).

It was nice however to assert her name to her coworkers.

And those few that actually had called her Ed before switched, catching themselves and fumbling, but actually _trying._ It made her so happy she was dizzy. 

Myrtle had hugged her when she shared that she was out at that week's meeting. Everyone else congratulated her and she could see that they really _did_ feel happy for her. (As she felt happy whenever they shared about a good thing that happened to one of them).

"El, you ready?" Myrtle called, leaning into her office, hanging onto the doorframe in a rather precarious manner, their blond wavy hair spilling over her shoulder like a miscolored waterfall.

Elodie smiled at the appearance of her friend, ordering the papers to be put into her report and then into a case file.

"Almost," she answered, stapling the papers, "How did you get back here?"

"Dr. Thompkins gave me directions," Myrtle hummed, waiting, with their purse thrown over their shoulder. She was wearing one of those tea-length 1950s inspired dresses, a bright teal color with patterns that really looked like rubber ducks. Myrtle Jenkins was certainly an interestingly dressed accountant.

Elodie nodded her understanding and stood, grabbing her messenger bag and fidgeting with the buckle on the side. She may have been looking forward to this for a while, but that didn't mean she wasn't nervous. And anxious. And full of all sorts of antsy energy and concerns.

She nodded to Myrtle, licking her lips nervously. (They tasted like sour apple lip gloss). Myrtle smiled and turned to walk out with her.

She dropped off her report at Alvarez's desk. And followed Myrtle out to their car (insurance so that she would not back out at the last minute). The two of them arrived at the tattoo parlor within five minutes, despite the city traffic.

She signed in for her appointment in much the same way she did at the doctor's office.

"Elodie Nygma?" someone (a man, said the patch on his vest), that was taller than her by at least three inches (which was quite impressive because Elodie was not short) and was also built to compliment the biker look he had going on. (He probably _was_ a biker, this was Gotham, there were quite a few biker gangs). His hair was curly and cut off at the line of his muscular shoulders. (And she was now more nervous about how much she was embarrassing herself by ogling the man than the reason she was in a tattoo and piercing parlor in the first place).

The man introduced himself as Tank and Elodie elbowed Myrtle before they could make a comment on how he was built like his name (and Elodie was not still staring at his close-cut and flattering facial hair and how it made his smirky smile look softer).

Fifteen minutes and one phone number and wink that made Elodie stutter blindly in the middle of her nervous rambling about the western history of ear piercings, she had pierced ears (and various products and instructions for how to care for her ear lobes and the jewelry installed in them).

Elodie smiled at her reflection (and it smiled back) so soaked up in glee that she didn't even try to dismiss any of the compliments or kind things Myrtle said to her.

In her earlobes sat a pair of silver stud earrings, shaped like butterflies.

She was a butterfly, and this was just another step in her development. She was no longer a caterpillar, and she was sure as crap not going to try to revert back to that stage.

She was Elodie Anne Nygma and like the butterflies, she could never be what she had been before (not that she even wanted to).

**Author's Note:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed it.


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